Introducing all the shit I have on my laptop that I will never finish
by The Scratch Man
Summary: Includes: Sabriel spn drabble, deleted scenes from a fic I'm writing, the beginnings of a Loser/Nikita crossover don't ask, and the beginning of a johnlock oneshot that never happened. Might as well get them out here and off my usb.
1. Abandoned Johnlock oneshot

John's fairly certain they might be right.

That is to say, all these random people who keep thinking he and Sherlock…

He can't finish the sentence –isn't exactly sure _how_ to finish it. Because that's the thing –what are they? Friends, right? But then there's all those strangers –the waitress or waiter, a mom shopping nearby, someone on the Tube –"you two are cute together", "how long have you been dating?"

John can't deny that he's been thinking about what it all means. Hell, that's why he's lying awake at three o'clock in the morning…

At first, he just shrugged it off, but _goddammit,_ what's he to do when it happens at least twice a week?

It's not that he's being –heavens no. He just –God. It's rubbing into his brain or something. They'll be in the street, and John will wonder vaguely if they look like a couple, and then he'll immediately mentally kick himself. And then he'll look to Sherlock and wonder what people presumed he saw in the detective. (_Consulting_ detective.)

The dark curls, maybe? The exotic cheekbones? The piercing eyes? An accentuated upper lip, probably perfect when—

John balks at where his line of thought it going. His breath catches.

Does this mean-? Well, no, he was just thinking, no harm in that. Besides, Sherlock probably doesn't even…

Oh.

John frowns. Does Sherlock even-? _Would_ Sherlock even be interested? Which is not to say _John_ is… alright, _alright_, maybe he is!

He sits up suddenly, sighing heavily.

He can't sleep.

Might as well make a cup of tea while he's up. He's going to be utterly tiresome, later, when he's cranky with no sleep.

John slips a robe over his pyjamas.

He supposes he shouldn't be so surprised that Sherlock is out of his room, too. Does the man ever sleep? Wait no, that's a terrible question.

John makes a noise of acknowledgment to Sherlock as he goes to boil some water.


	2. Abandoned Sabriel oneshot

It's Friday evening, and Sam's only at this party because of Dean. He's not really sure how his older brother managed to drag him along, but yeah. Here he is.

He keeps to the side of the room, leaning against the wall.

The room is dimly lit, and frankly, it's hard to see everyone clearly.

There's a guy talking to an upperclassman nearby. It's the kid who just transferred into his class. For appearing as such a _nerd_, the kid -Sam forgets his name… Gabe or something -seems to be rather successful in charming the older girl.

Anna's (Sam knows _her_ name -Dean talks about how smokin' she is all the time) smiling faintly, which is quite a feat, actually -she's usually unimpressed by male advances.

She shakes her head fondly and pats his shoulder as she move away.

He grins and wiggles his fingers good bye. Then promptly looks over and catches Sam staring. He comes over, and Sam just stands there, caught.

"Hi," Gabe ('Question mark', Sam thinks) says loudly over the music. He's got this happy vibe and seems almost naive. But Sam decides he likes how it doesn't seem like anything will get him down. "I'm Gabriel. Gabriel Milton? I just moved here. Your Sam Winchester, right? We have AP English together." His grins (happily) as he finishes, slightly breathless.

"Yeah." Sam smiles a little.

"Whatchya doin' here? You don't really seem to be enjoying yourself." Gabriel wonders.

"Brother." Sam shrugs.

"Ah," Gabriel nods, closing his eyes. For a moment, he seems dangerously close to rocking back and forth and murmuring, 'Amen, brothah,', but then his eyes snap open and he says, "My sister brought me here, too. Anna tried to bring Cas -he's my little brother -too, but he decided to stay at home to study. There really isn't that much to study, though, he's just antisocial like that. Hey, aren't you a freshman? You must be real sharp. AP AP classes already. Do you like ice cream?" Gabriel asks randomly. He gazes expectantly (also cheerfully) at Sam, who's been following along with a growing smile and his mouth slightly open.

"Yeah," He answers, "Of course." He kinda wishes he could have a better answer. He's only said four different words altogether.

Gabriel doesn't seem to mind. "Wanna ditch this place, then? Ice cream parlor's probably still open."

Sam gives a little laugh, "You barely know me."

"We could talk more. And get to know each other. How bout it, kiddo?"

Sam shakes his head with disbelief.

"Let's go." Gabriel says (happily).

Sam follows him and grins to himself.

…

Some people think it's a bit odd that Sam hangs around Gabriel. He may be an upperclassman with a super-hot older sister, but he's also a dork.

Ruby cannot stand to be around him, so when Gabriel comes over to talk to Sam, she leaves. Eventually, she stops hanging around Sam altogether.

He hardly notices.

…

One day, Gabriel invites Sam to his house. He looks at Sam with those cheerful, twinkling eyes and he just _has _to say yes.

He manages to convince Dean to drive him to the address Gabriel gives him that Saturday. Sam's sure Dean only agreed, hoping to catch a glimpse of Anna, so he's not surprised when Dean announces that he's going to walk his 'baby bro to the door like a responsible older brother'.

The door is opened by Gabriel's little brother, who's a sophomore and in Sam's health class, really serious, somewhat eccentric. He's wearing square reading glasses and the seemingly usual Milton boys' attire –dress shirt, tie, and a sweater vest. But he's also got his slacks rolled up to just below his knees.

Dean frowns. "Cas, right?"

"Castiel," says Castiel, taking off his glasses. He holds out his hand.

Dean shakes it awkwardly.

"Anael is not here." Says Castiel. He turns to Sam, "But Gabriel is. He has been waiting for you. Come in." Castiel steps back and Sam clambers in.

"I'm just leaving," Dean decides as Castiel turns back to look at him with that serious expression. "Call if you need a ride back." He adds to Sam as he steps off the front porch and down the walkway. "Uh, nice meeting you, Cas."

Castiel's eye twitches at the nickname and he closes the door. "Gabriel," He says gruffly, "Is in his room. Up the stairs, you'll see it. Excuse me." He walks off –no, _floats_ –down the hall.

Sam heads toward the staircase somewhat uncertainly.

There's a hallway down the second floor, and three doors. The first is open; it's a quiet, very neat study. The second door has a whiteboard on it that has random reminders like

'Remember to do your OWN laundry. I am not your maid.

-C'

Sam knocks on the door.

It flies open and Gabriel's standing there with a big (happy) grin on his face. "Hey Sam!" He says.

"Hey," Sam smiles faintly.

Gabriel grabs his wrist and pulls him into the room, closing the door behind him.

…

"What're you doing for Thanksgiving?" Gabriel asks suddenly, breaking off from his story about a prank he pulled on his Civics teacher (which involved seven tacks, super glue, and a bag of feathers).

"Uh, nothing, really," Sam replies, startled, "Dad's gonna be out on a business trip."

"Yeah, same here. Hey, maybe you and Dean-o could come over? Whadaya say? Cassy's a pretty good chef, actually. He's great at desserts."

"I'll run it by Dean," Sam decides.

"Will there be pie?" Dean sighs when Sam brings it up later.

"Uh, probably. Maybe. Gabriel said that his brother's a good cook. Also, Anna will be there…"

…

Thanksgiving comes and Dean makes Sam dress nicely –not dress _up_, but nicely. That simply means no wearing his 'emo shit'.

They show up to the Milton house at six-thirty sharp, as invited, and Anna opens the door. She's wearing an apron as she invites them in and tells them that everyone is in the kitchen.

Castiel and Gabriel are busy washing dirty bowls. The oven's on and something smells wonderful. When Gabriel turns to see them in the doorway, he breaks into a wide grin and quickly dries off his hands. "Hey, Sammy!"

Dean looks at him and raises an eyebrow at that, but Gabriel is grabbing his arm and dragging him away from the kitchen, already talking a mile a minute.


	3. Abandoned LosersNikita crossover

They're in southern Mexico (like _way _south). Clay and Roque are lounging around the shitty apartment, both suffering from intense hangovers and it's already past noon. Cougar is sprawled out across the ratty old couch in the corner of the apartment, taking a snooze (At least, Pooch is pretty damn certain he's sleeping. It's difficult to tell; Cougar has his battered old cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes), while Jensen sits on the floor in front of Cougar, typing and doing Jensen-type things.

So yeah. They're in Mexico and kinda stranded there for the time being. One of the downsides to going on missions that _technically_ never happened is that when something gets fucked up and all sources get cut, you're stuck. Quite _technically_, the Losers aren't even _in_ Mexico.

Pooch assumes this is what Jensen has been working on fixing. They've been down here for about two months, and Pooch is seriously sick of the scenery. When you're stuck in the poor side of the country, it really isn't that great. Especially if you don't trust the food because last time you came here you got food poisoning and couldn't stop throwing up for two days. Hypothetical case, of course.

It's about seven when Clay and Roque are seemingly over their hangovers. "Bar," Clay suggests and that's everyone's cue that it's time to go.

They go to one of the better bars in towns. Inside, it's dimly lit, hot, and stinks of cigarette smoke, beer, sweat, and something sour.

The team secures a booth, sits down, and they order their first round.

Roque and Cougar sit at the very edge of the booths, with Clay next to Roque, Jensen, next to Cougar, and Pooch sitting next to Jensen. Roque hates sitting on the inside of anything; a booth, a cab, a plane; doesn't make a difference. If he is not in the position to get out and into 'battle' first, he gets antsy. And antsy Roque is quite unpleasant.

Clay's drifted away to the other side of the bar by eight. He's chatting up the ladies when an Asian-American women sidles up next to him. Pooch can see that she's all charm and smiles, but years of recognizing the women Clay dates as psychopaths lets him see through that charm and yes, she is most definitely a fake.

Roque notices the woman –Pooch will generously lable her as Legs for the moment because damn, her legs are _long_, especially in that dress –and twitches. He's got that look that he gets when he sees some of Clay's potential new women. It's his _Jesus Christ not another crazy bitch_ face.

But there seems to be something different about this situation. As Legs leans over and whispers something in Clay's ear, his smile drops, just for a moment, and he frowns. She leans back and smiles (all charm) before sauntering off and disappearing into the crowded bar.

Clay looks back to the table and motions toward the door. It's time to leave.

"What's going on?" Roque demands as soon as they're back at the apartment.

Clay slaps a crumpled note onto the table.

It reads:

_I can bring you back into the U.S. The price is your help. If interested: search 'Seymour Birkhoff'. I will be notified. _

"At least she recognizes that there's always a price. Who was she, anyway?" Jensen wants to know.

"Said her name was 'Nikita'." Clay says. He sits back on the couch, looking tired.

"So what do you say?" Pooch asks the team in a low voice. "Think this is legit?"

"Definitely not legal," Jensen opinionates, "I mean, how can it be?" He's already turning on his laptop.

"What the hell is a Seymour Birkhoff, anyway?" Pooch wants to know.

Jensen shrugs. "Can't look it up without alerting them. Colonel?" He looks over at Clay expectantly.

Clay exchanges a look with Roque, who shrugs. "Can't hurt." He decides.

Jensen opens Google, types in 'Seymour Birkhoff' –there are no results. And then suddenly there is.

"Whoa," Jensen exclaims, "No, not okay,"

A window has popped up and code is streaming across the screen. Then it stops and the webcam turns on. The room on the other side is empty. Then a man –brunette, brown-eyed, mid-thirties, posture of a soldier –enters the screen.

There's a sudden scramble for Jensen's laptop and in the end, Jensen fights them all off, but turns the laptop so that Clay is shown as the man in charge.

"Colonel Franklin Clay."' Says the man.

"Who are you?" Clay's first question is.

The man glances off to the side for a moment before answering, "Captain Michael Samuelle. Former Navy Intelligence. You've met Nikita, obviously. We're willing to make a deal."

"Right." Clay says, unsure whether to buy the 'Navy Intelligence' thing so ignoring it instead. "You somehow manage to bring us back home; we help you in return. Sounds a little too good to be true. What do you need us for?"

"Just questioning. Possibly more. Nothing you can't handle." Michael Samuelle says.

"Questioning on what?" Roque interjects.

"Why don't we get you back, first?" Michael says with a polite smile. "All you need to do is agree, and I'll contact Nikita and she'll seek you out and tell you what to do."

"Who're you working for?" Clay says.

"We work for ourselves and you'll have to take our word for it. So do we have a deal?"

...

They arrive back into the States packed into a cooler in the back of a truck. The temperature of the box was lowered, but they were still given coats to wear. It went down like this: a man –a random worker who had been given money –had shown up to the apartment and had led the Losers to a warehouse where trucks were being loaded with both legal and illegal goods.

Now, someone is opening the cooler.

The Losers get ready to bust out, just in case something got screwed up in the planning. The door is thrown wide open an a woman is standing there, a smile on her face. "Welcome back, Losers." Nikita says.

They step out of the truck and it pulls away and out of the warehouse they're standing in.

"Here." She tosses them all new clothes, which Pooch recognizes as their very own from home at base.

Jensen's chattering in the background, and Nikita looks vaguely amused by it. This is a first, actually –most are usually irritated immediately.

"So, you're back," Nikita says, "And now you pay the fee."

"Or we could leave now." Clay says, "There's five of us and one of you."

"Or you could just come with me." Nikita replies, crossing her arms. "It's about Max."

And those are the magic words.

Nikita takes them to a van and drives them into New York City, which takes about half an hour of a car ride and Jensen's incessant rambling.

They arrive to New York City, where Nikita leads the up to a penthouse of a skyscraper. When the elevator doors slide open, the team is faced with an open room.

There's a kitchen off to the side and a staircase, but at the end of the room is an elaborate technical set up of monitors and computers and a whole bunch of other crap that makes Jensen's eyes go wide.

The man they recognize as Michael is standing behind another man –late twenties, early thirties, maybe –who's a brunette, a bit long-haired, and wearing glasses nerdier looking than Jensen's. They both look up as the Losers approach, and the nerd scrunches up his nose and goes '_Egh'_.

"Play nice, Nerd," Nikita says. She turns to the team, "You've already met Michael, and this is Seymour Birkhoff, our resident IT guy."

"Hey," Birkhoff snaps as Roque raises his eyebrows, "Your name isn't exactly normal, either." He takes off his glasses and puts them on the table before standing up and following Michael around his computer system set-up to stand before the Losers.

Pooch surveys the three-person team (and it does appear to be a three-person team). Michael is serious –the brooding one. Birkhoff shorter than even Pooch, but definitely a cynic and the most arrogant of them all. Except maybe Clay, but that was a different type of arrogance.

"Here's the thing," Michael says, "This Max who's been giving you so much trouble? He works for Division."

"What's-?"

"Division is a secret black-ops branch of the government." Nikita fills in. "We were all once part of Division, but we broke away and now our mission is to burn it to the ground."

"How-?"

"Black boxes. They hold information on all Division operations out there. We destroy them and Percy, the head honcho of the organization has nothing to safeguard him. Percy dies, Division can be taken down easily." Birkhoff says.

"The problem," Nikita sighs, "Is Max."

"He has the last, and probably the most important black box." Michael says.

"You guys practice this?" Jensen wants to know, "Or do you guys just get your brains like, synced up?"

Michael glances at Jensen and frowns while Birkhoff sneers and rolls his eyes.

"So where do we come in?" Clay wants to know.

"Max knows you, which means, frankly, you're not safe." Michael says.

"Your names are on the black box Max has. You help us destroy it, you're all safe, and your names will be cleared. On everything." Nikita says.

"This line of work, we're not usually safe." Roque snorts.

"Then do it for Jolene and Beth, and Heather." Nikita says.

"What happened to Jolene?" Pooch shouts.

"They're alright." She says quickly, "Beth and Heather, too," She adds to Jensen, "I'm just saying. Division has eyes on them. They could act any moment."

Jensen swears loudly.

"So we get this last black box, then we're safe and you'll finish the job, taking down this 'Division'?" Pooch questions, taking deep breaths.

"Yep. Everyone wins." Nikita says, and then grins. "Except them."

"Do you know where Max is?" Clay wants to know.

"Kind of." She replies. "Birkhoff is working on narrowing down his location. We know he's somewhere in the South."

"Well, we've got a tech. Two heads are better than one."

Birkhoff snorts from where he's sitting at his computer again.

Nikita and Michael talk to the rest of the team about black boxes and Division, and Jensen wanders toward Birkhoff and the computers, his fingers itching. He stands behind Birkhoff and watches as the guy's fingers fly over the keyboard, billions of profiles and images flickering by on the monitors.

Jensen doesn't recognize the host Birkhoff is using for his searches. "Hey, what is this? Is this some sort of Division thing?"

Birkhoff whirls around in his chair, looking offended. "It's Shadow Net. I created it. Okay, 'Jacob Jensen', you may be the loser tech that's better than most in the military, but let's get something straight. This isn't the military. I'm the tech here, and you may be special ops/black ops or whatever, but I will take you down if you mess with my shit. Got it?"

Jensen raised an eyebrow and looked Birkhoff up and down. The man looked pretty scrawny and harmless to him. He grinned, "Sure."

Birkhoff turned around again.

"Wow, you're one of those moody people, huh?" Jensen says, plopping down into a nearby seat. "So, what's Shadow Net?"

"It's a back-door search engine. I don't have to hack that much because Shadow Net is already connected to the sites I need confidential information from. It makes everything a lot faster to do."

"So Shadow Net… like Shadow Walker, right?" Jensen says.

Birkhoff twitches. "Yes. Exactly like Shadow Walker."

"Wait," Jensen's mouth falls open and for once he seemed speechless.

…

"Jesus," Roque says, glancing over to Birkhoff and Jensen.

"Looks like they're having a nerd-gasm." Pooch snorts.

Cougar smiles silently.


	4. Initial concept scenes from xmen fic

_**Unforeseen Consequences: Deleted Scenes/First takes/Alternate plot path thingies**_

**Jean-Paul's room**

**Utopia/Asteroid M**

**Off the coast of San Francisco**

No.

Oh no, no, no, no, no. This could _not_ be happening. It just couldn't.

Jean-Paul stared down at her body.

Yes –_her _body. She was a woman. Jean-Paul Beaubier was a _woman_.

She looked at herself in the full length mirror for a long time before reaching up and fingering her long, black hair. Slowly, she grabbed a handful… and yanked.

It didn't come out, but it sure did hurt a lot. "FUCK!" she screamed with rage.

…

**Very very first draft of Unforeseen Consequences, word for word. Be warned: It's very crappy.**

Nemesis smirked widely in a way Jean-Paul didn't like.

"So?" he said.

Nemesis opened his mouth, but Kavita beat him to it, "There are good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?"

Jean-Paul blinked, "The bad news."

"You're a man." Nemesis smirked broadly.

"What sort of bad news is that" Jean-Paul snapped.

"The _good_ news is you're a man again." Kavita corrected.

"The bad news, then," Nemesis said, getting ready to drop the bomb, "Is you're pregnant."

Jean-Paul stared. And he stared. And he stared.

-Three Weeks Earlier-

It really was utterly humiliating. Jean-Paul had spent long hours checking over the damage that gypsy-hag had inflicted.

Really, how was he to know that would be offended so easily? He really hadn't event said that much. Okay, maybe he had insulted her a _little_, but then, how was Jean-Paul to know she was a _real_ gypsy?

And could Jean-Paul even _refer_ to himself as a 'he' anymore?

To add insult to injury, there was a training session and all X-men personnel were required to participate.

No one had seen Jean-Paul for hours.

He –_she_ –could zoom through Utopia in a blur so no one would be able to tell that he –_she_, Jean-Paul Beaubier was a _woman_, but he would have to stay still _eventually_, and then people would _see_ him… her.

He had _breasts_ for Christ's sake!

Jean-Paul almost screamed when she put on her uniform and found that it no longer fit.

As a woman, his –her –shoulders were not that broad, and her figure could be deemed 'delicate'.

Jean-Paul was about to just pretend she was sick when someone knocked on the door.

"Northstar?"

It was Storm.

"I just wanted to remind you that we have a training session-" she said from behind the door.

"Acutally-" Jean-Paul cut herself, cursing the sound of her now feminine voice. Oh God, she sounded like her sister. She her throat and tried again, making her voice lower, "I don't think I will be able to -ahem –make it."

"Oh? Why not?" Storm sounded surprised but calm.

"I've come down with –_ack_ –something," he inserted a cough.

"Do you have the flu? I believe it's been taking its rounds. Maybe you should see Dr. Rao?"

"It'll pass," Jean-Paul said.

"Jean-Paul, I think there's a problem with what you're saying." Storm replied after a moment. The door suddenly burst open, "You are _never_ ill." She caught sight of Jean-Paul standing in the middle of the rom, "Aurora?"

"_Non_," Jean-Paul snapped. She sped around Strom and closed the door quickly. "I'm Jean-Paul." She said, crossing her arms.

"Oh my Goddess!" Storm gasped, her hands flying over her mouth, "Who did this to you?"

Jean-Paul scowled, "A gypsy."

Storm swallowed, "Well, Jean-Paul, you certainly… make a, um, pretty woman…?" she said, attempting to be polite.

"I look more like my sister than I would ever want!"

…

**Just outside Bobby's room**

**Utopia/Asteroid M**

**Off the coast of San Francisco**

Jean-Paul stood in front of the door, fidgeting. After lunch, Storm and Rogue had urged him to break the news of his pregnancy to Bobby. It wasn't as if he hadn't _planned_ to… He _had_ –just not so early.

Better to get it over with than leave it alone, though.

Jean-Paul raised an arm and knocked twice on Bobby's door.

A few moments passed, but for Jean-Paul, it felt like eternity.

Then the door opened and Bobby was standing there. His brow furrowed for a moment before he smiled, "Oh, hey JP. Look at you! You're a guy again."

"Yes." Jean-Paul said tersely.

"Um, wanna come in?" Bobby invited.

Jean-Paul stepped inside and Bobby closed the door. "So, I see you're better." He said conversationally, "What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." Jean-Paul stated simply. He wondered if he sounded too melodramatic.

Bobby blinked, "What?" he said out of disbelief.

"You are the father, Bobby." Jean-Paul said simply and matter-of-factly. He wanted to make sure it didn't sound like an accusation. It was a fact.

"_How_-?" Bobby whispered.

So Jean-Paul explained it to him; what happened with Elixir, and how Dr. Strange had cast a spell on the womb to preserve it while turning him back into a man.

By the time he finished, Bobby had gone from standing in the middle of the room, staring at him in shock, to sitting on the bed, staring at him in shock.

Jean-Paul sighed and said, "If you don't want anything to do with this, then you don't have to. The child might not be yours." He shrugged, saying that it _was_ -100 percent –_Bobby's_, but he was willing to forget that.

"But you know it is." Bobby said. He slapped a hand over his eyes and fell onto his back, "I got you _pregnant_. Oh my God, _shit_… I. Am. So. Sorry." He moaned, scrubbing the hand down his face.

Well that was unexpected.

Jean-Paul really hadn't thought of it that –as if it were all Bobby's fault and therefore his responsibility. The French-Canadian shook his head, even though Bobby wasn't looking at him, "Don't apologize. It wasn't as if I did anything against my will." he said.


End file.
